


Morning Glory

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Knotting, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Kink, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 10:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: There are some discoveries that flesh and blood really shouldn't have to try and handle before sun-up, but nature waits for no man.Or -The one where Stiles finds out that yes, Derek has a knot.





	Morning Glory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashhearts67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashhearts67/gifts).



> This was absolutely not the story that I was expecting to write next, but I did. In under two hours and at like, three in the morning so I can't really be held accountable for when inspiration strikes, just that it does and we have to live with it. 
> 
> I BLAME ONE PERSON FOR THIS, HOWEVER.
> 
> THEY KNOW WHO THEY ARE.
> 
> I don't Teen Wolf anymore, ever, but I live here for the time being. It wouldn't be me if I wasn't hopping on the bandwagon literally years late but oh well. Enjoy this. I'm not a Sterek writer, so all mistakes are my own.

Stiles rolls over with the full expectation of  _ not  _ feeling a solid body behind him.

Except there is.

Muscles.

Big ones.

Opening his eyes reveals their source.

Derek, Derek fucking Hale. Who was supposed to have been gone fucking hours ago, but nope, here he is, crammed into the left side of his bed with most of the covers pulled up to his chin. It’s disarmingly cute, in the way that sleeping tigers or some other large creature is. Fuck, it shouldn’t be, absolutely not.

Stiles doesn’t even care that he woke up because he was cold. Because seeing this, a relaxed, apparently well resting Derek is… special. The guy eats stress for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He’s not entirely sure that Derek actually sleeps all that much. Most of the time when Stiles sees him, he looks exhausted, or worse. Stiles kinda gets that though. It’s not like Beacon Hills ever since he got involved with the pack has been the most sedate place to live. 

Then again, Derek’s host of issues have been around a lot longer than Stiles’ and Scott’s lives put together. Not because they’re specifically Derek-related, no. It’s nature, and Derek’s a part of that. Stiles too. More a matter of them happening to be two different kinds of nature that somehow wound up converging.

Stiles reaches for the other comforter he keeps around for cold nights and pulls it up, scooting close enough until the tip of his nose is but a couple of inches from Derek’s. It’s not fucking fair, how fucking handsome one person can be, and yet, here he is, the very definition of brooding and hot. Like some sort of Victorian widower baron who had nothing left but the lingering scent of his deceased wife and a shit ton of money. Which somehow coalesced into something almost forbiddenly hot.

Derek has “I have big everything but don’t you dare ask about it” written all over him. Stiles never was good at listening, and still isn’t. And Derek’s stubborn, which is why he’s probably still here and not back in the woods.

Not that it isn’t nice having him in his bed.

Nor was it bad, falling asleep cuddled the fuck up like a couple of angry puppies who finally wore each other out and passed out on top of each other. Thing is, Derek’s not so hateful that he can’t let Stiles in a little bit. Which is why he was here in the first place. He’s not a wolf, he’s apparently got a lot of affection to give, and kissing and doing other things he shouldn’t with Derek is really fucking fantastic and they didn’t quite get around to  _ any  _ of them last night.

Stiles had been tired and Derek had only wanted to cuddle, so that’s where they’d left it. He can respect that. But now, now Stiles isn’t tired anymore. He’s rested and warm (mostly) and Derek’s fucking hot and right there, face smushed into the pillow. Not fair, at all. Stiles doesn’t sleep pretty like that, so it’s certainly a good thing that he’s awake before Derek is. No need for him to see that. 

Scott’s told him during enough sleepovers that he doesn’t look his shiniest in the morning, and he’s figured that’s as close to truth as he’ll get. So what, the Stilinski men don’t look their best before ten. Or whatever. It can’t be helped when it’s genetic. 

Looking at Derek has other parts of him heated, and he knows for a fact that his dad’s not home right now. So it’s quiet, and he’s  _ mostly  _ been good at keeping anything obvious from showing up around his dad. Mostly. There have been a few hickies that neither he or the sheriff have brought up, and having the same reaction of grumbling a “good morning” or “hey dad” at each other is probably going to be the extent of the conversation they have. Technically, Stiles is a minor. And… well, there’s some legal shit that he isn’t going to get into. The sheriff had bought condoms, left them under Stiles’ pillow, and yeah, it’s nice of his dad to assume that he’s the one pitching (a train of thought that he doesn’t like following) but…. It’s not a talk they’re good at having. And haven’t. One of those things that he left for Stiles to figure.

Oh, and making the assumption that  _ Derek  _ is the responsible one was a miscalculation. Blind trust like that, Stiles had nearly lost his shit when he’d overheard the  _ you’re a man, Derek, and I expect you to act like one  _ conversation  - Derek’s a horny idiot, as Stiles quickly found out when they started… this. Like, Derek gets dick crazy just the same as Stiles does.

And he’s got a serious, intense fixation on Stiles’ dick, one that… God, fucking  _ Scott  _ of all people had brought up. Stiles knows he’s big. It’s not something he likes to brag about because it’s not like he knew much of what to do with it, until Derek showed up. Even now, it’s… mostly Derek doing things to him. Except Derek doesn’t flinch, and Stiles gets a lot of head which is normally followed by him coming with Derek balls deep in him.

He can feel the precome seeping into his boxers, a soft moan escaping his lips when he reaches down under the covers to touch himself. Mornings are his favorite jerk off time, and since Derek’s here, he may as well make a little more of it then normal. What exactly that entails with Derek still asleep and cocooned in most of Stiles’ blankets, he’s not sure.

Right now stroking his dick from the most awkward angle, with the wrong hand, is apparently the best goddamn thing since Derek put his tongue in his mouth. That first kiss gets a lot of rotation in his spank bank playlist. In fact, it’s front and center right now.

Stiles rolls more towards his back, at least giving himself room to get more in his hand. Skinny kid with a big dick, so that it looks almost disproportionate to the rest of him. He’d feel a lot better if he had some muscle to go with it, but… yeah, he’s working on it. One trade for another, he supposes. He’s close enough that he can smell Derek, sleep-warm, piney, something dark and masculine that Stiles has no particular word for. It’s just  _ Derek,  _ and he loves the way it follows him everywhere. 

Scent filling his nostrils, Stiles gets a little closer, dick pulled out over his waistband. His other hand comes out from under the blanket and tugs at the only loose spot of Derek’s, just under his elbow. Fuck all, the bastard’s got them pulled up close to himself, but Stiles manages to wrench away enough to get a look at his chest and some of his stomach. Derek has hair all over -  _ all  _ over - and Stiles scoots down the bed, gentle as he can, to push his nose against Derek’s tits. He loves how his pecs heave when he’s reaming Stiles for his life, one hand on his hip, the other above his head and keeping Stiles’ hands clasped. 

Derek stirs, but doesn’t wake. Stiles is on a mission now, licking Derek’s abs until half of him is hanging off the bed, blanket pulled up and away from Derek’s death grip on them. He’ll work Derek’s body over later - he’s got one goal in mind. What he’d wanted when he’d seen Derek yesterday, the sole thought that he’d entertained for most of the two days before that.

The black Saxx trunks that Derek favors, even in the dark of his room, do precious little to dispel the fucking  _ glory  _ Derek packs in his trousers. Yeah, Stiles is big but he’s not  _ Derek  _ big, not wolf big. Alpha big. Stiles can live with his seven and a quarter, average girth cock, please and thank you but… goddamn, Derek’s ought to be on screen. Preferably just Stiles’ screen.

He doesn’t even have him out yet and Stiles is already salivating. Pushing Derek over onto his back without waking him is apparently a lot easier than he’d imagined it to be, because Derek goes without so much as a grunt. Gives him more room to work with that way. He finishes peeling back the covers, kisses Derek’s stomach, once, just above the navel. 

Stiles takes his time, because it’s not like it’s something he gets often. Cups and squeezes Derek’s bulge through his underwear, rubbing caressing, mouthing. Derek’s not super great at holding still and waiting while Stiles teases him, so this is a goddamn  _ treat.  _ And he’s still asleep. Stiles gets hard in his sleep all the time, so there’s no reason he can’t get Derek there as well. Not like wolf physiology is all that different from his own, right?

He sucks at the head through the underwear, nursing slow while he slides his left hand up the leg and inside. Grabs Derek from the side and tugs at his soft dick until it’s laid out and up towards his hip, a perfect, warm ridge that Stiles wants to write fucking sonnets about. He trades his left hand for his right, rolling Derek’s balls between his fingers as he hardens him up, soaking the cotton with his spit, hot breath coming back to him and okay, it’s not smelling the best but… Derek really isn’t allowed to care about that right now.

It’s slow going, getting him hard when he’s dead ass asleep. Stiles has to restrain himself from grinding against the mattress, exercising patience that he doesn’t get to when Derek’s awake. He’s got Derek’s trunks pulled down just far enough that the top of his pubes peek out, black, darker than the hair on his head,  _ musky  _  - Stiles does inhale, mouth curled around the base of Derek’s rapidly fattening cock. Christ, he needs to wake the fuck up, because he needs Derek to  _ see  _ him bust his goddamn jaw down his shaft. The look of awe, of  _ approval  _ on his face when Stiles does - it’s a bigger aphrodisiac then sniffing his pits. 

Stiles groans a little more loudly than he’d like to, and finally gets tired of Sleeping Beauty, well, sleeping. Taking Derek out without actually pulling his trunks off isn’t easy, because he’s  _ long,  _ deep in your guts and knocking you up long, clearing nine by a solid margin that Stiles can’t even be jealous of. Of course he can’t fucking deep throat him, but Stiles makes his best effort every time. Oh, and then there’s his foreskin. Which Derek has  _ a lot  _ of. Completely covers his head when he’s soft, and when hard, just the barest pink of his tip sticks out from under it until it’s rolled down.

At first, Stiles thought he’d had phimosis - nope, Derek’s just got a lot down there. And it’s very, very loose. Lots to nibble on. 

Stiles gluts himself on it, and he doesn’t care of Derek wakes up just yet. He pulls his foreskin down and Christ, he’s thicker in the mornings, the head filling his entire mouth it seems, almost to where he has to get up on his knees to swallow past it. It’s work, but it’s worth it. Hell, he’s already leaking precome, deep-salty, coming from some locked away place in Derek’s body that Stiles wants to drink directly from. 

It doesn’t take long for Stiles to find and settle into a routine, jerking him slow with his right hand while he bobs down to about halfway, all the while with his own cock hanging out of his fly and drooling all over the sheets - Stiles came without a hand on himself the first few times he sucked Derek off, but he’s gotten better. Still, there’s something indescribably hot in the way that Derek fills his mouth and throat, and Stiles is a slut for it. 

That he’d be good enough at blowjobs to merit Derek coming back for more is still a little beyond him, but trying to justify it makes his head hurt. It’s confidence inspiring, and makes Stiles feel  _ way  _ better about himself.

Right as he’s working up a good puddle of spit beneath Derek’s balls, something happens. At the base of his dick. Hell, maybe he  _ can  _ get harder but… 

Stiles stops to look, precome and spit gagging him as he pulls back and fuck,  _ fuck,  _ Derek’s cock is…. Hell, he has a knot. A goddamned great big one too. 

“Derek, Derek wake up!”

He didn’t mean to shout, but the groan with which Derek comes to consciousness is… yeah, stupid hot. But his dick is popping a  _ knot. _

“And here I thought it… oh.” Derek looks at Stiles, down at himself, his eyes widening  _ really  _ fast when he sees what’s happening. “So. I have a knot.”

He has the audacity to sound  _ surprised. _

Stiles wants to smack him sometimes, he really does.

“Yeah, of course you do.” Stiles sits back, his hand still on Derek’s dick. “You… did you not know you  _ had one?” _

Derek doesn’t answer him, but Stiles knows enough of his facial expressions by now to interpret the look he gives as  _ it’s fucking news to me too. _

“Derek, seriously. Not once, in all this time, you… you didn’t get a knot. Ever.” Stiles is both endlessly turned on and baffled, having read about this sort of thing. Knots only come out when there’s a potential for mating, or a rut, and… Stiles isn’t sure which one this is. Derek’s biology is fucked up from enough of his past trauma that the one time Stiles had asked him about rut, he’d gotten a stony face and the vibe that it’s not something Derek wants to talk about.

Which leaves the other option… open. Terrifyingly open.

“I… look, Stiles, I didn’t know that I  _ could  _ anymore. We’re talking years here. Not since…” Derek shakes his head, then puts one hand on Stiles’ cheek. “This isn’t a bad thing. I promise. Just… now that it’s up, we gotta keep going.”

“Keep going. Like… ‘get the lube’ kind of going? Or do you wanna finish-”

Derek’s kissing him, hard enough that it rattles his teeth and makes Stiles see stars behind his eyelids. Fuck, it’s pretty incredible, a shot of pure energy right to the bloodstream, to have Derek’s tongue in his mouth. He’s being rolled over onto his back, boxers whisked away and they’re naked, really fucking naked, grinding and slipping against each other. Derek’s knot keeps catching against  _ everything  _ down there, and the whimpers he lets out when it happens are magic. Stiles drinks every one of them up, tries to get his hand around it - Derek keeps batting him away and alright, he can sit back. 

He clearly knows what needs to be done, and Stiles is perfectly alright with being the help in this experiment. Lube appears and then there’s fingers, slicking up his hole and spreading his cheeks, a muffled  _ so fuckin’ tight  _ as Derek slips a finger in. Stiles’ toes curl, legs fallen open and not yet to be hooked around Derek’s waist. It’s agony, to just lie back and let Derek stretch him - it always is. But Derek’s the kind of guy who needs a lot of prep, otherwise Stiles isn’t walking for a couple of days.

“You’re fucking loud this morning.” Derek bites at his bottom lip as finger number three slides in - he’d lost it apparently when the second had gone in. “Your dad’s not home, is he?”

“Think it’s a little late to worry, don’t you?” Stiles’ spine is about to blow out, because Derek keeps fucking him on his fingers and bending them and there’s just so, so much precome, and he can’t stop thinking about Derek’s fucking  _ knot  _ and… hell, how is all of that going to fit in him?  _ Can  _ it fit in him?

If that second thing is true, he’s probably going to  _ have  _ to. They need to talk about that, later, after there aren’t any knots inside and their clothes are on. 

“Yeah.” Nothing more than that, and Derek’s kissing him again like he’s trying to bury himself under Stiles’ skin. Maybe he should let him, just to keep him fucking safe. Stiles’ hands go from where they’re no longer gripping Derek’s shoulders to his hair, tangling in the sleep-mussed strands, soft, tacky with dried product in places. Derek’s fucking him with his fingers so, so good, and in goes his pinky because apparently he’s trying to kill Stiles dead and, well, he’s fine with that. Except he wants his cock, and his knot, and maybe the rest of him too, forever.

“Derek, come  _ on. _ ” Stiles can take a lot, more than Derek had initially thought and Christ, it’s hot as hell now, and Derek just needs to fucking  _ listen  _ to him, get his cock in his ass already. He must get through to some listening part of him, because Derek pulls his fingers out (a sadness that Stiles has to get over  _ quick)  _ and dumps lube on himself, the sheets definitely in need of washing now, big, big,  _ big,  _ pushing into Stiles with a long, non-stop thrust, right until his knot is pushing the edges of his hole and Stiles is well and truly sent to some other place, full and never wanting to be empty again.

_ Move. _

Not even said, just a broken motion against Derek’s mouth. Derek does, hips snaking, thrusting, impossibly slow going because he knows as well as Stiles does that this isn’t something they’ve done before. Something that Stiles, no matter how hard he tries,  _ isn’t built for.  _ He swallows that resent back, enjoys instead the almost overbearing sensation of Derek’s thick alpha cock filling him up, picking up speed, planted above Stiles on one hand to give himself leverage.

God, he’s getting bred, isn’t he? 

Stiles hooks his legs up around Derek’s back and helps him, pulls him deeper, crying out on every thrust. The whole neighborhood can probably hear them and he doesn’t care at all, nothing fucking matters except the hot, perfect slide of their bodies together. Stiles shakes with every motion, a biting kiss placed on Derek’s mouth, his neck, shoulder - they’re landing where they land, and he can feel his orgasm pulling, rocking, torn from his cells towards the consuming mass of Derek. He’s close, close,  _ closer, come on Derek, come with me  _ and the gasped  _ right there, Stiles, can- _

Come nails Stiles in the chest without so much as a finger on himself and it doesn’t stop, lasting and lasting. Derek slams hard enough that Stiles jolts up the bed, dick locked deep in Stiles around his knot and he can feel it, his come filling him up. 

When the wave finally pulls back to see, Derek comes down on him in a massive, sweaty heap, blanketing Stiles with his body and he’s still. Inside him. He isn’t coming out any time soon, Stiles already knows. 

He caresses the dip of Derek’s spine, right on down to his ass, grabbing a handful because it’s the least he deserves. He’s so, so full, and Derek…

Derek.

“If it’s that second thing, Derek, listen - I can’t… I want to say-”

“Shhh. I’m still fucking coming. Just. Shh.”

The kiss he gives Stiles isn’t an answer, but maybe it’s a question left better for another time.

For now, he’s going to enjoy the rest of his morning.


End file.
